She figured it out.
Some families are built by blood. Mine, it turns out, was built by the people who showed up when it mattered. On my desk at the museum, beside the nameplate that says Associate Director, there’s a four-by-six graduation photo and two folded letters in blue ink. They’re the only inheritance I’ll ever need.
Because here is the thing Nathan tried to tell me all along, the thing it took losing him to finally learn. The people who love you don’t need you to be small so they can feel big. And anyone who does need that, no matter what they call themselves, was never loving you at all.